Caught in the Act
by GoGirl212
Summary: A summons to the palace brings unexpected trouble to the musketeers. An entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires March competition with the them "contagion".


_A/N: I didn't think I would have time for a challenge piece this month with the tons of writing I've been doing on my long fic - but this morning my muse had other ideas. Not beta-read because muses have a terrible sense of timing. This piece is for the March Fetes de Mousquetaires competition theme "contagion". Check out all of the stories in the forum and please vote for your favorites :)_

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Athos was not pleased. A summons to the palace before dawn was nothing to make anyone happy, but for guard duty? He sighed and stripped off his hat, rubbing his hand over his face and hoping he would look more alert than he felt. Guard duty at the break of day was annoying enough, but what was aggravating him more was the absence of Aramis and D'Artagnan. They should be here by now. They would be called into council chambers at any moment and Treville would be furious to see only two of the King's elite guard were ready for duty.

He spared a glance to Porthos again, silently asking him for the third time if he knew where their companions were. The responding glare confirmed that Porthos knew no more than when he had asked five minutes ago. Athos had been surprised to see the big musketeer waiting in the antechamber ahead of him, Porthos not being known as one who could easily be roused. He seemed surprisingly put together for a man who had probably played cards into the small hours of the night - until it dawned on Athos that Porthos had never gone to bed. Must have been a hell of a game. Porthos had greeted him with little more than a grunt, his eyes tired and face lined from lack of rest.

Athos replaced his hat and gave a deep sigh, staring down the corridor where he expected his men to appear at any moment. No, he was not even remotely pleased.

"What's this about then?" Porthos's question was more of a sigh as he pushed himself off the column he had been leaning on to join Athos is staring down the empty hallway.

"No idea," Athos replied flatly, "Woke up to Henri banging on the door saying Treville wanted us to guard duty at the palace immediately."

"You think this is some plan of Richelieu's to torture us into resigning? Because this keeps happening and I will," Porthos threatened.

"You will not," Athos said with a glance to his friend and a slightest of smiles, "You will do your duty honorably as a musketeer as you always do."

"Well, I don't have ta be happy about it tho', do I?" Porthos grumbled.

Both men were pulled from their conversation at the sound of rapid footfalls echoing down the hallway. They straightened up, hands moving instinctively to the pommels of their rapiers. They stood at alert for a moment until a familiar figure in brown leather skidded into view as he tried to slow down on the polished tile floor. Slipping down to a knee, D'Artagnan scrambled back to his feet, looking every bit prepared to run headlong down the corridor until he caught sight of Athos and Porthos glaring at him at the other end. He stopped a moment to give a tug to his leathers and push his hair out of his face before closing the distance between them in several long, urgent strides.

"What have I said about running in the palace?" Athos said sharply, uncomfortably recognizing he sounded just like his father.

"Sorry," the Gascon said, still trying to catch his breath and fumbling with adjusting the sword belt that he had hastily slung over his unfastened doublet, "I was just trying to get here as fast as I could. Isn't being late worse?"

D'Artagnan looked up at Athos with eyes asking for forgiveness. Athos noticed long marks on the young man's face, creases still left on his skin from whatever he had been sleeping on. His eyes were gummy. Clearly, he had dressed quickly and by the looks of it completely in the dark. With an exasperated sigh Athos took the sword belt from D'Artagnan and handed it to Porthos.

"Tuck in your shirt," Athos ordered. The disheveled Gascon didn't blanch, just started sheepishly shoving the long edges of his shirt ineffectively into the front of his breeches. With a shake of his head, Athos straightened out the leather doublet and started on the buckles while D'Artagnan fidgeted and combed his fingers through his unruly hair.

"Now this is touching," Porthos snorted. D'Artagnan glared at him, snatching the sword belt from his hand and slinging it back over his waist.

"Where's Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked, looking around as he fastened his belt.

"Apparently more late than you," Athos answered, letting out another frustrated sigh. "What kept you so long?"

"Well, I was asleep . . ." D'Artagnan started, stammering and looking anywhere but at Athos and Porthos.

Before Athos could press D'Artagnan for more information, Porthos gave him a bump with his shoulder and indicated with his head that Athos should look down the hall. Languidly sauntering down the corridor D'Artagnan had just entered by was their missing fourth. Aramis moved easily, with no sense of urgency to his gait. He seemed oblivious to his three friends waiting expectantly at the end of the hallway. A chambermaid entered from a servant's door a few feet before him and Aramis paused to tip his hat and engage her in a short conversation. Porthos couldn't hold back a chuckle when the marksman pilfered a long stem rose from one of the vase's recessed in the alcoves that lined the hallway and offered it to the maiden with a suggestive nod of his head.

"Well we know where he's been," Porthos said suggestively.

"Where?" D'Artagnan asked.

"He's in a romantic mood," Porthos replied, "that means one thing."

"The only questions now are who," Athos said with a long-suffering sigh, "and how much trouble will it get us into."

The marksman gave a long glance over his shoulder as the chambermaid rushed off to finish her errands. Giving the brim of his hat a tug, Aramis stolled to join his friends, a contented grin pronouncing his satisfaction with his morning activities.

"Gentlemen," he said by way of greeting, "It's a lovely morning, is it not?"

"The sun's barely up" D'Artagnan complained, "Why are you in such a good mood?"

"Well," Aramis stretched, opening his arms and giving a mighty yawn, "I am satisfied in having helped a damsel in distress, made the charming acquaintance just now of young Mademoiselle du Page, and find myself here with my three most stalwart companions," Aramis clapped a hand on Athos's and D'Artagnan's shoulders to emphasize his point, "What is not to be happy about?"

"A damsel in distress?" Athos asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Erhmn, well yes," Aramis replied, dropping his hands from his friend's shoulders and fidgeting under Athos's gaze. "I assisted a lady in retrieving some missing property."

"What lady?" Athos queried, knowing immediately where this was going.

"The Marquess de Faumont," Aramis replied.

"What property?" Athos asked dubiously.

Aramis gave a little cough, "Her shoe."

"Her shoe?" Athos echoed, clearly not amused.

"Her shoe," Aramis confirmed with a nod.

"Where was it?" D'Artagnan asked with earnest curiosity.

Aramis gave the Gascon a serious look, "As it turns out, after quite a thorough bit of searching, we were able to locate it under my bed." Aramis flashed the young man a roguish grin while Porthos laughed at the confusion playing on D'Artagnan's face.

"Under your bed? How did it get . . . oh . . . " D'Artagnan trailed off finally figuring out how Aramis had been passing his time. "Do you ever actually sleep?" D'Artagnan blurted out incredulously.

"I do, but probably not as comfortably as you," Aramis retorted reaching up to pluck something from D'Artagnan's tangled hair, "I don't have the pleasure of taking my repose on Madame Bonacieux's down pillows," he said mischievously, handing D'Artagnan the goose feather he had retrieved from his hair.

To his credit, D'Artagnan blushed deeply, causing Porthos to let out a guffaw and share a laugh with Aramis as the gascon tried to regain his composure.

"If you are all through?" Athos enquired, his tone indicating he was not amused by any of their antics this morning. "Am I to take it that I am the only one who had any rest this night?"

"Athos," Aramis chided, "passing out in your cups hardly qualifies as rest."

D'Artagnan put his knuckles to his mouth biting back a laugh while Porthos exhaled in what might have been a loud chuckle had he opened his mouth. Athos rolled his eyes. What had he done to deserve this this morning? His head was starting to resonate with a dull ache, but Athos would be damned if he would let Aramis know he was any the worse for his evening.

"Can someone tell me why we were called up for guard duty before the morning bells had even rung?" Aramis asked through another yawn, looking beseechingly at his comrades.

"Because Richelieu hates us," Porthos said, stifling a yawn himself.

Aramis and D'Artagnan exchanged a confused glance, but before either could enquire further, the doors to the council chamber swung open to reveal Captain Treville in the doorway. Athos pulled his shoulders back to attention and noted proudly his companions doing the same. They may all be tired, but they were all business when the time came.

Treville ran an appraising eye over his men, disappointment registering in his face. Athos suspected they did not look as fit for duty as he had hoped.

"Well you four are a sorry state," Treville muttered, "Hopefully no one else will be awake enough to notice."

"Orders?" Athos asked, voicing the question on all of their minds.

"King Louis is receiving a German Baron to negotiate a trade agreement. You four are royal guard for the negotiation."

"Why so early?" Aramis asked sleepily, "The King rarely is out of bed before vespers."

Porthos and Aramis both snickered, but Athos flashed a glare at Aramis for his cheeky comment. He realized the marksman was about to regret it when Treville stepped up to him, practically nose to nose with the suddenly contrite Aramis.

"Thi King," Treville snarled, "has upon advice from his Turkish physician, decided that rising for physical exercise prior to the break of dawn will keep him vigorous throughout the day. It looks like you, Aramis, will be escort on his pre-dawn walk around the grounds for the next fortnight."

Aramis gave the Captain thin smile and dipped his head in acquiescence. Athos might have felt sorry for him had he not made that snide comment about his drinking habits earlier.

"Take your posts," Treville ordered, "the Baron will be here momentarily." Treville turned on his heel and marched into the chamber. Athos spared a glance to his men, knowing they would understand his silent request for good behavior, then followed Treville into the room to his spot to the right of the door. The others filed in, D'Artagnan taking position to the left of the door and Aramis and Porthos flanking the door on the opposite side. It was a ceremonial presence really, as no one expected trouble of a small entourage from a nation they were at peace with. They stood at attention and waited for the King and the German emissaries to arrive.

And waited.

And waited.

The sun was well over the horizon by the time the King made his entrance to the council chamber, a trail of advisers and servants in his wake. Athos straightened up, quickly scrubbing a hand over his face. He had been daydreaming about something, he couldn't remember what. His mind felt sluggish and his head ached dully in the bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows. To his left, he heard a small sound from D'Artagnan and tipped forward to see the Gascon trying to stifle a yawn. Athos glared at him and D'Artagnan straightened up at once, his eyes blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

The King settled down at the head of the table, the Cardinal seated at his side and Captain Treville standing just off his soldier. The German Baron took his place standing before the King and opened the top of a scroll of parchment. The terms of the agreement, Athos suspected. With a slight bow to the King, the Baron began to read - at the most excruciatingly slow place conceivable. Athos thought that even if he tried to speak that slowly, he couldn't do it. And was that even french? The accent was abysmal. Athos considered it might be Spanish, but then he could understand about every third word. He hoped the document wouldn't be too long. He caught another small squeak from D'Artagnan and leaned in slightly to check on his protege.

D'Artagnan had dropped his head back and was rolling his neck to relieve a kink. Athos cleared his throat and as soon as he had D'Artagnan's gaze sent him a look that implied any further movement on his part would be met with stable duty for the rest of his days. Seeing the Gascon snap to attention, Athos rocked back onto his heels, pressing them into the ground and squaring his shoulders once more. Athos could wait out anything.

He lost track of time eventually. Other than the sun still slowly rising, Athos couldn't tell if they had been there 15 minutes or 3 hours. His eyes kept drifting closed and it was all he could do to stay alert. The Baron droned on, completely unintelligible yet unrelenting in his pursuit to enunciate every syllable. Trying to remain focused, Athos's eyes swept the room, landing on Aramis, standing across the way. His friend's face looked pained, his eyes half-lidded. He teetered slightly as he rolled back on his feet. Athos felt a bolt of fear snap through him, wondering if had forgotten some injury to his friend that was now plaguing him. Just as he was considering the best way to make his way to the other side of the room, Aramis's face screwed up in what looked like a flash of agony and then suddenly, the marksman's mouth opened in perhaps the widest yawn Athos had ever seen.

Athos's mind went from worried to angry in the blink of an eye. The big yawn must have brought Aramis somewhat to his senses as he seemed to shift to steady himself. He grabbed a handkerchief and quickly raised it to his mouth, eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Falling asleep on guard duty was a serious offense. Athos caught his worried glance with a dark stare. Aramis gave the slightest dip of his head, an apology for the transgression.

That might have been the end to it had not a mere moment later Aramis's eyes gone wide with panic, fixated on something across from him. Porthos's expression also looked shocked and his draw dropped to leave his mouth hanging open in surprise. Concerned, Athos leaned forward again, this time to catch D'Artagnan yawning as broadly as Aramis had, but with the added embellishment of a stretch as worthy as any alley cat as he arched his back and rolled forward on his feet. Athos coughed to get the Gascon's attention and saw panic flare in the young man's eyes. D'Artagnan tried to close his mouth, but of course, couldn't stop a yawn half way through.

The young man regained his composure and tilted forward to look at Athos. "Sorry" he mouthed soundlessly, looking extremely contrite. But then immediately his face contorted as he tried to hold back another yawn. Athos knew there would be hell to pay, but he had done his best to save D'Artagnan from the wrath of the Captain and now, it was every man for himself. He straightened up and forced his shoulders back once more but focusing his attention elsewhere only made matters worse. Across the way, Aramis was now yawning again, although at least having the grace to attempt to hide it behind his handkerchief. Athos considered that was asking a lot of a small bit of cloth considering that Aramis's gaping maw was an echo of the wide-mouthed Gascon's across the way.

If icy stares could prevent yawning, then they would have been fine but despite Athos's glaring, they seemed resoundingly immune to it. Rather, one yawn seemed to beget the next and Athos could tell from the squeaks and sighs coming from his left that D'Artagnan and Aramis might as well be in a contest to cause the most noticeable interruption to the proceedings. Athos was angry now. One man yawning might be laid at that musketeer's feet, but two men under his charge acting with such little decorum at court was bound to get him on the wrong side of Treville as soon as this was over.

Although it was starting to seem as it might never be over. The scroll the Baron was reading from kept getting longer and longer as it perpetually unrolled. The accent even more indecipherable. The pace, well, Athos suspected the man might be repeating every other unintelligible word now for added emphasis. Despite the anger at the boorish behavior of his comrades, Athos felt his mind starting to drift again, his focus getting fuzzy. It was too early, too hot, too dull to manage this much more. Athos started to review in his mind the different methods of torture he had been subjected to over the course of his time with the musketeers and could find none more onerous to endure than this.

Eyes scanning the room, Athos could at least take comfort in the fact that the nobles and attendants were not fairing much better than the musketeers. Of course, they weren't on guard duty, so a polite yawn hidden behind a discreetly raised palm would not cause serious repercussions to a courtier, but it did amuse Athos to see them suffering along with him. The King himself seemed nearly done in as he leaned half sprawled on top of the books and ledgers spread at the table. Small sighs were rippling throughout the room, a few of the nobility having as much trouble as D'Artagnan to keep their yawns inaudible.

Across the way, Aramis was still struggling too, his eyes watering from the effort to stay quiet and still and failing as yawn after yawn claimed hold over his face. Athos gritted his teeth feeling another wave of tiredness wash over him. Would this damn thing never end? At least he and Porthos were holding up the decorum of the regiment.

Athos turned his gaze to the big man standing stock still and gave him a small nod of approval. Porthos stood as a statue, rigid, strong. His jaw was tight and his back ramrod straight. Athos was proud of him, knowing he had had the least rest of all, but then something in Porthos's countenance caught his attention. Porthos wasn't just standing still, he was trying to hold his breath. His face was turning red, tears were streaming from his eyes, and Athos realized that the man had clenched down on his jaw so tightly to prevent his mouth from opening that when it did, there was no way there wasn't going to be anything less than a swooshing rush of air like a bellows at a smithy. Porthos was on the verge of a tremendous yawn and it was just a matter of time before he lost out on his battle to keep it at bay.

Athos swallowed, forcing himself to look away. He couldn't even be angry anymore. It was ridiculous to expect that anyone could be up before the sun and then stand through this interminable council session and not simply drop from exhaustion on the spot. No, this was just another folly of Louis's that they would have to endure. Athos inhaled and sighed, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. Uncharacteristically, he brought his hand to his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The Baron droned on, the ache in his head persisted, and really, all he wanted to do was lie down.

That was the last thing he could remember actively thinking about when a deep, long-winded sighing breath whistled out from his open mouth releasing a yawn so deep that Athos startled even himself as he realized that sound was coming from him.

Mid-yawn, he managed to stop as fear and shame froze his diaphragm. He forced his eyes open to see every single gaze in the room affixed to him. The drone of the Baron had ceased and he stood wide-mouthed in shock at the audacious interruption. Athos felt his face flush in embarrassment and his heart clench in fear. There was going to be hell to pay.

Cardinal Richelieu was the first to react, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape and rising from behind the table. "I'm sorry," he said across the room, voice indignant, "Are the King's affairs _boring_ you?" Of course, Richelieu would take this moment to shame the musketeers. Treville stood at near attention behind the Cardinal, his steel blue eyes shooting daggers at Athos but his straight back told him that their Captain was ready to endure the consequences.

Athos was not sure what a soldier really could do in this situation, but as a Comte, he knew at least what was expected by the court. He gave a deep bow, bending from the waist and taking his hat to his heart with a flourish. "My humblest and most sincere apologies to his majesty and the court," he said, keeping his head bent to show his humility. His voice was strong and didn't waver, even though it galled him to know this scene was his own fault.

"Treville this really is a disgrace," Richelieu started, "I would think that you would choose better men to serve the King than this ill-mannered . . ."

"Enough!" Louis said, exasperated and whining, "Ill-mannered or not, at least this musketeer has the sense to be good and properly bored." The King righted himself in his chair and pushed up from the table, causing a bustle of activity as the rest of the court stood, bowed, straightened and preened in response. "Honestly, Cardinal, how long did you expect I would have to listen to this?" he said flapping his hand toward the Baron. For his part, the German looked soundly confused as the French words flying around him were spoken too quickly for him to understand.

Richelieu opened his mouth to speak but Louis cut him off again, "No, no. I am done. All of this sitting around has ruined the effects of my morning constitutional," the King said pouting, "Cardinal you will have to see to the trade arrangements yourself," Louis paused in his instructions. His jaw dropped as he himself succumbed to a yawn fit for a King. With a sigh of exasperation, Louis strode out of the room, his usual followers hurriedly trailing after him.

The rest of the court dispersed leaving the Cardinal to face the small group of Germans on his own. Richelieu looked almost pitiable as he sat down again and the Baron took up intoning from the scroll once more.

Outside the council chamber, Athos regrouped with the others, waiting for Treville to make an appearance. D'Artagnan looked spent and had the good sense to offer no comment to his mentor on the entire affair. Aramis and Porthos were another matter entirely. Porthos wasn't even trying to suppress his broad grin and Aramis looked like he might bust out laughing at any moment. The marksman placed a hand to Athos's shoulder, shaking his head a moment as he continued to fight his laughter.

"Haven't you made enough of a spectacle of yourselves for one day?" Treville's voice cut through the milling crowd and startled even Aramis into a respectful stance. Athos wasn't sure what the punishment would be, but he knew one was coming for all of them.

"Never have I seen such a disrespectful display from any of my men," Treville started, "Clearly you have all not had enough practice at guard duty. I'll be rectifying that in the daily roster for the next month." Treville glared at them, but none saw fit to even raise an eyebrow. "Return to the Garrison. You are confined there until muster tomorrow morning," and Treville stalked off down the hallway.

"I've never seen him this mad," D'Artagnan said quietly.

"Oh, not so mad as you would think," Aramis said, putting a reassuring hand to D'Artagnan's shoulder and giving him a smile.

"But he just confined us to quarters," D'Artagnan stammered, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"D'Artagnan," Athos said with a slight smile, "He just gave us permission to spend the rest of the day in bed."

"And I for one ain't gonna waste it," Porthos said, putting his hand D'Artagnan's other shoulder, "Let's go," he said, propelling the young man forward.

"The next time we are being tortured," Aramis said to Athos as they made to follow their friends, "Perhaps you could yawn and . . ." Aramis darted out of the way as Athos moved to cuff him, catching up to their comrades and wheedling between them.

Athos couldn't help but smile as his friends joked and laughed, planning what they would do with their time confined to the Garrison. He doubted anyone was getting any rest tonight either.

 _-fin-_


End file.
